


Turn Twice and Thrice and Once Again

by KKaylaKayleb



Series: Shipping Heart Stuck [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ashen Romance | Auspistice, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Gamkar for life, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Mentioned Dave, Narration by Gamzee, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, referenced harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-01 07:51:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4011742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KKaylaKayleb/pseuds/KKaylaKayleb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gamzee's opinion on Karkat's other quadrant pursuits.<br/>--<br/>Your name is Gamzee Makara and you have fucked up.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>-<br/>Part of my Shipping Heart Stuck Verse but you can read it alone.</p>
<p>Takes place before part 1, 2 and around the end of part 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hearts

You're sitting alone in a corner, clothes and skin torn up from clawing at yourself, tear tracks down your face and your paint fucked the hell up from trying to scrub away tears that got every right to be falling.

Your name is Gamzee Makara and you have fucked up.

For a minute there, it looked like things were gunna be alright, and then you just checked right the motherfuck out and when you came to again you had gone and turned your life fucking horn side down on a unicycle.

You finally got your fronds clean of all that fucking sopor slime that slicked up your pan to slide all sweet and easy through life and got back to knowing yourself again in some new place with your brothers and sisters who somehow made room in their pushers to forgive you what you did and then you tossed it all down the imperial pail with slurry aint fit to breed beast, let alone decent creatures. You just up and set yourself up to be flayed alive for turning twice on the only brother you ever had who never turned on you and left him all soft and weepy with a line of redpop dripping straight from his own fucking pipes to hide from problems you both signed up to deal with, elbows locked, and now you and him off separate to lay in unmirthful fucking regret. All a brother wanted from you was a little quadrant's blessing, but on something you could not motherfucking abide. You know this motherfucker he got all set on, knew he was set on the fucker not long after you settled in with him all in stardust, but this pale ass bulge blister who broke your fuckin spirit with wicked unmirthful blasphemy and he wants that all up in his heart? You cannot motherfuckin abide, and you made it plenty clear what all you thought on him wanting a jank ass shitty alien up in his business sweet to sour or on any friendly terms such like.

Still. Ain't a cause ever laid from Messiah Smile or Frown that says a brother can with any right ever lay hand to harm his palemate. Wasn't enough he was cryin at you and still pity soft from gentling him few and fewer before, not enough when he got mad and spit fire at you for thinkin you had any right, wasn't enough to have him pinned and drip dropping sweet salty pain from his soul through his eyes, you went and drew from him his own motherfucking life fluids, technicolor off spectrum bright as fire and brighter. Then you fucked right off an left him to sit here and shake and only see and know what you did like maybe it was some other horrible ass excuse for a troll that went and did harm at him like that; like maybe if you imagined and stepped off memory far enough it really would be not you who put that pain in his heart and on his flesh like the awful son of a spit you know full well you can be when your mind gets set all hostile.

You remember now why he always calls you an idiot. Mostly, its cause you get out of your head and drift all absent while thoughts keep your head high and your feet walk on, like they even know where the fuck they're going. Sometimes you just forget you're made of live bits and don't tend to the needs your whole rest of self has to remind you of its need to be taken care of all conscious like. This time, its a rarer occasion when all your pan and pusher and body meet up and decide to hold ground on a thing you think was made up just to affront you and you get all twisted inside with that terrible rage that makes the part of you that wants push down the part of you that cares and leaves a fuckin ruin of what you saw before takin that last blink on the edge of a big cliff. Shits scary as fuck to you, and twice to anybody that sees it up close and first hand, cause it doesn't know a friendly face from the back end of a club. Then you just wake up like its some awful daymare and you got tangled in a pile too much strained to shake yourself back awake and when you finally get there and see what all you did? You mostly cant even begin to fuckin handle the wreckage you wrought on what got too close. Lotsa times its your friends.

You close your eyes and blink away those stray tears, like you even got the fluids left to be wastin on shit like that and take some air in to your shaky ass body to try and get put back together enough to go back and fix what you fucked up with him. Your shake and shiver would be enough to start up one of those fancy bubble tubs about now, but you still make it up to only your feet on the ground but your hand on the wall in case your wobbly walk stalks ain't got the courage you need to get you back to him. You take a step, and another, and stumble a little, but headed back the way you came no less certain of what exactly you got a need of doing, more than just your need, but the need of every side and sharp angle on your diamond.

Some fool part of your mind keeps saying its his fault, and you don't gotta take any blame for him being wrong about Strider, but you strangle that motherfucker to shut it the fuck up right now because it doesn't even start to matter how wrong he was on account of how much wronger you were and you have no entitlement to shit unless he deigns for even a second to forgive you for making him moirail bleed for telling you a tender spot and trusting you to do your motherfucking diamond studied duty.

When you get back he is still and laying. Still and still weeping, no move made to tidy his self up from your assault and fucking battering of his person, and he don't look up when you come in either. You feel your pusher pump full of pity for him, and the weight of scorn taking your own breath away to make him so helpless he wouldn't care if it was anybody else who came in and saw him laying out in full non caring of whatever weapon came crashing over him.

You speak at him all soft, but have to raise a little when he can't hear you over those sobs he doesn't bother to choke back, and goes just a little limper when you get close, already surrendered to whatever you might lay on him with, club or caress and your heart just keeps breaking into littler pieces as you kneel down and bow your head at him, horns to the side so he won't think you'll take him up on his offer of himself.

"S...sorry, brother," you make your voice squeeze out, on account of how you sure as fuck can't touch him until he grants you privilege again to even meet his eyes in account of how fuckin awful you've been.

"L-liar," he chokes back, glaring at you with all that fire in him dull and still softer for you than any pile you built just for his comfort. You, you suppose you can't rightly deny that, seeing as how you didn't say what you got to apologizing for, as some you're more sorry than others and parts beside you ain't sorry at all.

"He-" you start, hot and angry, and then cut that shit down. He wasnt even here and its a wriggler thing to blame someone who didn't even know they were getting talked about for what none other but your claws preformed.

"I..." You start again, but it dies off into silence because your mind is shooting a whole breeding batch of ideas at you and none of them are tight. You gotta think this through careful and make sure the words you got are the ones that are really the ones you need to fix all this mess you started. You take a deep breath and work on lining up those words again, and let them flow.

"I got mad. It ain't a good reason, and its a shittier excuse, but I let my own bile at that brother clog my ears when I should have listened. If its how your pusher wants to pump then you gotta follow it, I know. And it ain't my place to decide anyway." You push out the last sentence like a blade in your belly, because its the truth, even if you don't wanna hear it or say it.

He nods at you all slow, letting his own eyes get dry some and you take it as settled for now, maybe, and go make a warm rag to clean up his face with and lay soft cloth bandages over where you hurt him, and he gently cleans you right back and fixes your paint.

He knows you hate Strider, and you know he knows, but you also know they got what looks like something beautiful, and he knows you know that too. You'll live, and in turn, you gotta let him live too. He still trusts you enough to fall asleep in your arms, and you let the image of him leaning against your side with all the love and trust and pity in the universe quell that nasty noise inside you, till its just a whisper and its gone. Or maybe you just fell asleep.


	2. Spades

It aint long after your palebro lays into hearts with Strider that he up and tells you he's thinking about settling in spades with the fool's moirail and you just about pap his face off on trying to rethink going after that other motherfucker again. You remember all the fuckin angst he went through back on the meteor, always ranting and raving about that fucking human bein a focus on where he put all his hateful thoughts. Your bro almost burst with all the bile and rage he set towards the dark haired human and you took time and time again to soothe your precious moirail back to peace on it, even as your mind was coming apart at the seams, because he would have broken to pieces all trembling in his own well of hate too small for even your serendipity pale to piece back together.

He says they had it out in the big commonblock a couple days ago. Bro came up at him all steam and huff and Karbro, bless his beautiful pusher, punched that brother straight down onto his ass and left him on the floor.

You get set with a big breath to lay some sweet congratulations on him when he tells you that in half the time since they had ended another round rolling all over the floor and bruising all parts and places on each and fucking other. Your eyes get a little red around the corners and you feel a growl about half way bubbled up inside your thorax when you remember that your diamond's matesprit kicked you in the stomach earlier for snarling at him about how you'll turn him into grubsause if he don't treat your best beloved to the highest standard of fucking quality. Unlucky for you, Karkat catches the wince and goes about feelin and seein exactly what the fuck got at you, then makes at guessing who it is till you snarl about his pasty-ass pity fuck and you kick your own ass out of the pile and flash the fuck away from his rage twisting face before he can get at you with any of his goddamn fucking sense making and shooshing of your messed up emotions.

You end up on the roof of the complex, panting and kicking and snarling at nothin but the empty air that gets too close to your face, wishing to get your know on with some of the more solid objects around here that bend and break and make painful sounds at you when you strike them.

You are weak and fucking ill with the rage in you at your brother's backwards ass wants at his quadrants and how they come to his thought with smiles and frowns with their thin skin and bright eyes and-- you kick in a fucking smoke pillar and watch all the little building prisms crumble back into the shaft. Goddamnit. You feel your eyes even out back to a gentler shade and sit your ass down before you can do any more stupid shit.

For all you're getting such a big fuss on over this, you don't actually know the human more than a glimpse over Karkat's shoulder on the husktop screen every now and again and some hella fucked up dream you had after your mind went on without you and for some reason all you remember is kissing him with matching hammers. That makes you frown a little more, because what the fuck, even if your mind was gone that ain't no excuse for nonsense like that to be leaking into your pan.

Some place in your traitor mind pokes you again with thoughts on it. You don't even know the brother, and here you are without half an idea who he is ready to take him down to the dark carnival without a second thought for half blinking pitch at your moirail not a handful of times. You groan in frustration and hunch up, wishing maybe a little too much that the smartass little voice in your pan didn't sound so much like Karkat and didn't get so similar to helping you work down a rage.

Fuck, its just what Karbro was on you about earlier too. You don't even know this motherfucker. You got no solid knowledge on him and no right to judge at fucking all. Sometimes, you really hate when he's right, but there ain't no changing it so you just pick your grumpy ass back up again and stomp your way back down to the pile you left Karkat in, cept when you get there the pile's a little more... Spread out, than you remember it being.

Actually it looks like one of those twisty wind pillars blew through your block and threw all your horns and pillows at the walls and ceiling. You find what's left of it in the corner digging his claws into a pillow, face burning angry red and tear smeared from wiping them away too hard with his little callous roughed hands. He growls a little when you step closer, sets his angry eyes on your shoes instead of your face and you take a breath and try to gather yourself back to acting your age instead if a dumbass wriggler. You get all set to lay an apology over your littlest brother, and a gentle hand on his head and he fucking snaps at you. With his teeth. You draw back your hand just a little and flick him right center on his forehead, not so much in the mood for his bullshit when you're trying to straighten out both of your shit.

"Listen here you rude ass motherfucker, I'm trying to apologise but i won't do it if you're going to make a pass at chomping off my fronds." You tone is all salt and you see him frown up at you, baring his teeth. You level him with a steady frown, like you seen a his lusus do once or twice, giving him a moment to let him know you're serious and he stays silent for you.

"You're right, okay? I don't know him from a piece of grubloaf, so then its only fair you give me a chance to judge him in the flesh."

Karbro fuckin huffs at you, and sometimes its a little easier to remember he's half a sweep younger than you. But he pulls out his palmhusk and types up something, waiting a minute and hissing as he punches down the keys to respond to whatever the fuck.

"Fine. I set us up for a Pale and Pitch with Strider and Egbert tomorrow night." He says, and you about open your mouth to tell at him how it isn't anything sure set for double pitch yet on any side and he levels you with the same look you gave him earlier. "Gamzee motherfucking Makara, do not fucking start with me."

You bite your tongue and fold down your ears, but since he's right and you're hardly a step away from fixing this again, you do not fucking start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That one was a little lighter, thank goodness. But anyway, here's two of three.


	3. Clubs

You swear to mirth if you ever have to put up with this shit again you are going on another fucking rampage. You are outside the compound, punching the shit out of a big tree that shakes with every impact, even for all this thing is too big to get your arms around.

Your pale bro went and filled another fucking quadrant without even letting you know he had any inclination towards doing so and went and told you about it like he didn't remember the start and only got left at the end of his own motherfucking story like he didn't know how walk fronds'll carry a brother downstream if he lets his mind wander too long. You of all fucking brothers know shit like that bleeds truth just as every grub is born with his horns on.

You get real familiar with a sense of anger and deeper pain than what's rattling in your pan and down your arms with little hums and vibrations as you sock the fuck outta this tree. All you want of your brother is for him to trust you with this shit. You got more than half a pan now and still most of it you'd give up if it meant any like to letting him put in you the same gentle-fierce honesty and trust you put in him by even motherfucking half. You trust this brother to stand like a stone in your sight when you rage and smooth your messy paint and clean out shit from wounds as may or may not leak your color direct and you trust him with your whole fucking soul to have you and keep and keep and keep you, safe and safer forever and for ever. A brother didn't even tell you he had the starts of clubs nipping at his heels for more than a perigree and a half beforehand.

You give the tree another good hit in its ugly fucking face and upercut a nice chunk of its belly, starting to look alike with those who thought to lay in ash with your diamond and grind powder even thinner to smooth it over his perfect miracle self to tarnish the surface with black and white all over.

You let out an ugly snarl and punch so hard you break a third finger and all of a sudden all the anger seeps out of you into the big tree and you sag against it. You're crying again, like a fucking slob and your hands are bloody and broken and you are sore and tired and it's almost winter again and even with how much you've been eating and you high spectrum blood you are frozen half way through standing out in the wind and itty bitty rain drops without a messiahs damned shirt on. And all this over your moirail.

You heave another sigh, knees shaky with shivering and weak and tired because your leaky thinkpan got twisted in knots about how little control you have over your palest love. Which is shit because he can't be all yours. You can't keep him all cozy close to your pusher like he's a part of you, cause he ain't. He has a soul and body and mind all his own, and its his choice who he lets at him and how.

You cling hard to bitterness, aching for and from it now like how you used to ache for a taste of sopor. You want to make at snarling and hitting things again, but when you open your mouth all that makes it out is a little keen of sad and hurt. Pours out of your mouth like all the rain rolling smooth off your waxpaint and drips onto the ground like all the little splashes of blood you didn't figure would be so many from all the little damage you did to the tree. Sits there like the empty-heavy above your meal sack where you keep all the sweet, sugar pale love for your moirail, but the weight drips down too. Anger can't cling to the solid smooth stone of serendipitous star-white pity you have for him and at the end of a light cycle, a diamond's all thats left.

Fuck but its cold out here.

You drag your drippy carcass back to the compound and shut the door tight behind you. Little ghost of a smile plays over your face as your feet carry you back to the block of your littlest brother and when you knock and whimper small against the pain of busted bone, he opens the door faster than you've ever known him to be able.

His block is dark, and it looks like maybe he might have been settling to sleep, and with the light of the hall behind you all he can really see is that you're wet. He looks half paniced and exhausted like when he's had worry eating at his perfect little mind way too long, and you probably took a lot longer than usual to calm down then, because if you glance a little at the clock by his coon it says its past eleven. You remember he told you after dinner about his full set with ashen, maybe around seven and you're half way opening mouth to croak out a sorry when something sharp sounding happens right next to your face.

Takes a minute to figure out what it was, but you can see Karkat's hands pressed flat against each other just below your jaw, as high as he can reach up you, and you think he just... Clapped... at you?

"If you were anybody else I would have smacked you so hard your descendants would still be turning their heads centuries from now." His words ain't gentle, but you earned them, and you bow your head at him.

"Then I owe you a thanking broth--" you start, voice still a little shaky like the rest of you, but this time he does get up the nerve to bring his palm to your cheek, more than a few shades darker that pale headed crosswise on a chart.

"You don't owe me shit." He says at you sharp as needles and colder than ice as you draw back from the blow, and tears in your eyes don't well because of the sting of words, but something deep and aching in you.

"I ought to break up with you, the way you've been acting over this. Every time i fill a quadrant you throw a tantrum like a fucking wriggler over the whole thing! They're my fucking quadrants Gamzee! I am not your fucking property!" His words bite at you like sharp teeth and you feel them burn and try to seep poisonous hate into your diamond.

"I know, Karkat, brother,please, I know, and I'm sorry," you say, keeping soft and reaching out for him but he slaps your hand away.

"No you're not! If you were sorry you wouldn't keep doing this to me!" You wince, already settled in full knowing of how dumb you've been, and not quite knowing still how to calm your palemate out of his hot angry rages. You blurt the first thing you can think to shoosh his fury.

"B-Blessings of mirth on your quadrants," you say, holding your hands up in offering, lain out before him asking mercy of him and he grants. His hands fall and you let yours too, eyes dropping away from his where he looks at you with one of those almost frowns, and his eyes draw to your hands where you're cut and broken up and anger passes and settles into not yet forgiven acceptance.

"You're bleeding." Your moirail has never not been blunt about hurtness, and you nod, offering your hands willingly when he takes them up and turns to see what damage you wrought on your fronds. "Idiot."

Your little diamond is a true docterrorist when it comes to your wounds, cleaning and stitching and bandaging all the time his mouth runs and he interrogates for answers on why and how and "just what the fuck you thought might come away better or even half good from pounding your boney hands against a drones beshitted tree?!"

You tell him gentle and soft and sorry that you wanted to get the angry out without hurting nobody you cared about, and he hushes some. He lends you a towel to dry and a shirt you left to wear when you stay the day in his block, and he lets you settle into the pile with him, but he makes it clear if you ever do what you done again, all with tantrums and violence, he won't let you back in his block, nor let you stay in pale with him. You agree, and note that since he's fresh out of squares to fill you shouldn't have any trouble keeping your fool mouth shut on the subject. He grumbles, so you cuddle him and by the time he's asleep, all is forgiven and understood.

You figure you ain't got no right to speak on your brother's quadrants anymore or ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there's that. Hope you guys liked it, and check out more of this AU if you get the chance. Comments are always appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> There will be more chapters.


End file.
